


the cost of survival

by Wildehack (Tyleet)



Series: Star Wars Works [11]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyleet/pseuds/Wildehack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I hate our luck," Leia said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cost of survival

**Author's Note:**

> Cortue asked if I'd ever written original series cannibalism. 
> 
> My answer was that given that the original dream team almost get cannibalized by teddy bears in Return of the Jedi, they're probably a little more blasé about it overall than the new dream team. (Also, what exactly were the Ewoks serving at the Death Star after party? Stormtrooper, duh.) I figure that after you've almost been food, and you've probably already eaten at least one dude, you become a little jaded about the concept.
> 
> Semi-jaded cannibalism to follow.

They killed half the pirates and sent the rest limping into hyperspace, but the damages were pretty grim: the hyperdrive shot to hell, an exploded grenade in the mess, and the nearest outpost thirty days away on impulse. The only things left in the kitchen not burnt to cinders were a wok, a bottle of alamin oil, and a pouch of Kasyyyk salt.   
  
The four of them huddled around the dejarik table and licked their wounds, too tired even to pitch the dead pirate off the console. He was a big human, hard to move, his own pickax still sticking out of his chest. Luke tried to convince a tarp to drift over their gruesome centerpiece, for decency’s sake, but exhaustion overcame him halfway through, and the tarp settled onto the dead man’s chest like a blanket.   
  
“Well this is _great_ ,” Leia said like a verdict, slapping a bacta patch onto the vibro-blade cut on Han’s side. “We just have to survive on oil, salt, and rust for a month, and everything will be fine.” 

  
“Dibs on the salt,” Chewie said dryly, from where he was trying to reattach Luke’s right thumb to his hand. Kashyyyk salt and human digestive systems didn’t tend to mesh well.   
  
“Your generosity astounds me,” Han replied, batting Leia away from his ribs. “Okay, enough. You’re wasting bacta, princess.”  
  
“You’re still bleeding,” Leia pointed out, pushing Han gently forward, so he had to rest his elbows on the table.  
  
“It’s a scratch, not an organ transplant,” he answered, grimacing as his wrist brushed the dead man’s hair.   
  
“Well, when you die of infection, don’t come crying to me,” Leia snapped, and dabbed at the cut again.   
  
“This was supposed to be an easy mission,” Luke said wistfully, flexing his fingers and almost knocking the mini-spanner out of Chewie’s hand.  
  
Chewie yanked the tool out of range, and snorted. “This was supposed to be a _vacation_ ,” he said, gesturing at the gentle swell of Leia’s belly with Luke’s thumb. Mon Mothma had been begging Leia to take some time away to breathe for years, and the baby and Gala’s potential membership in the new Republic had been as good an excuse as any. Which is why nobody on Hosnia was expecting them back for another three weeks. Plenty of time to starve to death. “Just our luck, Jedi.”   
  
“I hate our luck,” Leia said, and broke open another bacta patch.  
  
“Who cares if I die of infection or starvation,” Han asked with a glare, but he let Leia smooth the last bacta patch on, and leaned into her when she finished. “If we’re dying anyway.”   
  
“Infection might be quicker,” Luke pointed out, as Chewie picked up his hand again, trading the mini-spanner out for a mini-bonding gun. “Plus, the fever makes it so you’re not even hungry. That’d be something.”   
  
“How about instead we try not to die at all,” Leia said. “Any suggestions?”   
  
None of them looked down at the table.   
  
“We eat Han when the scratch on his ribs kills him,” Chewie offered, heating the gun up with a whir. Han threw a bacta wrapper at him.   
  
“Hey! Careful,” Chewie said, revving the gun in Han’s direction.   
  
“Maybe I could put us all into some kind of Force-induced coma for a month,” Luke mused, and then winced as Chewie bent over his hand. “That stings.”   
  
“That’s not how the Force works,” Leia told him, rolling her eyes.   
  
Luke shrugged, careful not to jostle his hand, which was turning forge-red at the tip of his missing knuckle. “Might be. Might not be.”   
  
“We could eat Luke when he sprains his soul and dies of Force exhaustion,” Han suggested.  
  
“ _That’s_ not how the Force works,” Chewie said with confidence, and then blew on Luke’s soldered thumb. “That should hold until we get to a repair shop, anyway.”   
  
“So we eat you, fuzzball,” Han said. “You could spare a limb or two.”   
  
Leia let a hand drift down to her belly. “Anyone got an idea that doesn’t involve cannibalism?” she asked, plaintively.   
  
Nobody answered her. Han pressed a grim kiss to her forehead, and she let out a heavy sigh. “Fine,” she said, and yanked the tarp up over the dead man’s body, so it finally covered his face. “Luke? What can you do with alamin oil and Wookie salt?”   
  
“Why is it always my job to cook,” Luke grumbled. “I told you, I’m not a _Mos Espa_ Lars.”   
  
“You got Mos Espa relatives, kid,” Han said. “That makes you the expert.” 

Luke sighed, rested his head briefly in his newly repaired hand. “Maybe a fry-up,” he said from between his fingers. 

Chewie clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll get the cold chest out,” he said, and slowly stood, lumbering away.   
  
“You’ll need more tarps,” Han said, levering himself up by way of Leia’s shoulder. 

Luke and Leia stayed looking down at the body for a moment, now just meat on the table. They had both felt the voices crying out, the awful silences after. They knew, intimately, the difference between a person and a body. The cost of survival was killing him in the first place. Nothing they did now could be worse, and so nothing they did now mattered.  
  
“It’s not wrong to keep on living,” Luke said quietly, looking at Leia’s hand still resting over his nephew, sleeping in her body. “There’s no shame in it.”   
  
“I know,” Leia said, with a small sigh. “Still.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I am wildehacked (ie the tumblr user previously known as wildehack, it was a whole thing) on tumblr, if you wanna come say hi!


End file.
